


Cream of the Crop

by Eienvine



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Cooking competition TV show AU because why not, F/M, Sifki Month, Sifki Month 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:01:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23722039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eienvine/pseuds/Eienvine
Summary: When Jane sees the call for applications for a team cooking competition show and has the brilliant idea that Sif and Loki should apply together, Sif's happy to agree; she could use the exposure for her cafe, and besides, it could be nice to see her childhood friend Loki again. Little does she know that this show will stir up a whole stew of emotions for both of them.
Relationships: Loki/Sif (Marvel)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 67





	Cream of the Crop

**Author's Note:**

> Here is my slightly late offering for Sifki Month 2020, week 2: crossover/alternate universe. The show in which they are competing is somewhat based on the Netflix show The Final Table, with many liberties taken. (Those of you who've watched The Final Table might notice a subtle hint that I'm still mad about how that show ended, btw.) My apologies for anything I've gotten wrong about professional chefs, cooking, and reality competition TV shows.

. . . . . .

“Welcome to the _Cream of the Crop_ finale!” booms the beaming host with the too-white teeth. “Twelve teams of chefs started this competition, and after ten rounds of competition and elimination, we are down to two!”

The spotlights glide across the floor to focus on the four chefs standing on the dais, and Sif tries her best to look put-together and self-assured—no easy task, after two grueling weeks of filming and competing and cooking until she’s ready to scream.

But this is it: after today, one of the teams will go home the winner. She has a 50/50 chance of being on the winning team, taking home her half the prize money, and finally being able to start work on opening her very own restaurant. She glances up at Loki, standing beside her and looking cool as a cucumber (and rather handsome) in his chef’s whites and his usual man bun, and she fights back a grin. They’ve won four of the challenges so far, and she doesn’t want to get cocky, but she thinks they have a fighting chance.

But the introduction is still rolling on. “But today, a twist! Up to this point, our chefs have always worked in teams of two. But for the finale—” pause for dramatic effect— “we are splitting up our teams! Each chef will work alone, and only one of them can take home the grand prize of $75,000!”

Stricken, Sif looks at Loki again, but he looks as shocked as she does. Her heart sinks. She cannot do this without him; she’s not a classically trained chef, not like Loki, not like their opponents—a pair of brothers from England—all of whom went to fancy cooking schools and work at or run Michelin-starred restaurants. She only agreed to this because Jane had the idea of Sif and Loki applying together, and Sif thought that with Loki she had a chance.

In fact all of this is Jane’s fault; she’s the one who saw the call for applicants and talked Sif into applying, pointing out that it’d be great publicity for the cafe and for the food trucks and for the proper restaurant that Sif’s been planning and dreaming of for three years now. And Jane is the one who reached out to her brother-in-law Loki to see if he’d want to apply with Sif. Sif is still shocked that he said yes; she and Thor are still pretty close, but she’s barely talked to Loki since they both graduated high school over a decade ago. She’s watched his interviews online and read reviews about him in magazines, always smiling softly to see her old friend looking so very grown-up and polished, but that’s not the same as talking to him. He sent her a very kind note when _Food for Thought_ put Glaive on their list of “Top 25 New Casual Dining Restaurants,” and she sent him a similar one when Mojo was awarded a Michelin star, but that’s been the extent of their interactions up until a few weeks ago.

“You will have ninety minutes to create a dish that encapsulates who you are and your cooking philosophy,” says the host with the too-white teeth.

Loki turns to Sif. “You’ve got this,” he says under his breath: an attempt at buoying her up, which is not exactly in character for Loki Odinson.

Sif blinks at him.

“And your time—starts—now!”

. . . . . .

_Loki Odinson_ _  
__Vanaheim, USA_ _  
__Executive chef at Mojo_

_“I’ll win this competition because I’m the best chef here,” says Loki, looking straight down the barrel of the camera._

_(That’s his shtick: he doesn’t have to be nice because he’s brilliant.)_

_“A Michelin star at 27, a whole host of accolades and competition wins, glowing reviews in every industry publication,” says the host with the too-white teeth in voice-over. “Eir Altheda, in her review of his restaurant Mojo, called him ‘A once-in-a-generation talent and a true magician in the kitchen.’”_

_The video switches from shots of Loki at work in Mojo’s kitchen to a low-res photo of him in the kitchen with Frigga. “Cooking’s in my blood,” Loki says in voiceover. “My mother was a chef before she married my father. I grew up helping her in the kitchen, and she would cook the most extraordinary things. I knew from the time I was eight years old that this was what I wanted to do with my life. So I went to Le Cordon Bleu right out of high school.”_

_(That’s oversimplifying things, of course; he’s carefully not saying that his father was furious when his son chose culinary school over business school; he’s carefully not saying that the fact that Odin would be furious about it is part of the reason he decided to do it. Loki’s shtick might be that he doesn’t have to be nice because he’s brilliant, but he’s savvy enough to know that he can only push that so far, and his lifelong feud with his father probably won’t endear him to viewers.)_

_“After graduation,” says the host with the too-white teeth, “he began working at the famed Le Géant in Paris, working his way up to the position of saucier before moving to Vanaheim to open his own restaurant, Mojo. Mojo quickly became the top-rated restaurant in Vanaheim, and less than two years later received its first Michelin star.”_

_“I believe food should do more than just sustain the body,” says Loki, who’s never been afraid of sounding pretentious. “It should sustain the soul. My idea was to take classical French techniques and elevate them to create dishes that feed all the senses, as well as the imagination.”_

_The video, which has been showing Loki hard at work in his kitchen, consulting with staff and plating food, switches to show customers marveling at one of his creations: delicate flowers cut from sugared edible paper, floating on hot air currents above a brazier of glowing coals._

_The narration continues. “In addition to being a leader in the world of molecular gastronomy, he has gained a reputation for creating illusions and magical moments with his food. Dining at Mojo is an experience you will never forget.”_

_(What the host with the too-white teeth does not say, because he does not know it, is that Loki has grown restless at Mojo, that the siren song of his hometown of Asgard has been winding its tendrils around him for the past year. Watch this space, because Loki might do something surprising very soon.)_

. . . . . .

Sif has one advantage over her three competitors: she’s an athlete and a terrific runner, and she is filling her basket before the rest of them have even made it to the pantry. She’s got half-formed ideas in her head, slowly firming up—definitely barley, people underestimate barley, and she’s thinking fish—because she might feel a little out of her depth but she’s never backed down from a fight.

A clatter from behind distracts her, and she turns to see that one of the Whittington brothers has accidentally knocked a jar of sundried tomatoes from his brother’s hands, and the brother’s chewing him out. The cameramen all focus in on the fight, and Loki takes advantage of being out from under their scrutiny for a moment to address her, stepping in so close that Sif can feel his warmth.

“If I’d known they were going to split us up, I wouldn’t have agreed to this stupid show,” he mutters under his breath.

To be honest, she’s still not sure why he agreed to “this stupid show”; he doesn’t need the exposure or the money.

“I guess they have to keep it dramatic,” she says. “Turning allies against each other and all that.”

“Have they?” he asks, and from his expression—not quite as casual as he seems to think—she thinks he’s genuinely concerned about the answer. “Turned us against each other?”

She punches him affectionately in the shoulder. “If you cutting my hair off when we were nine didn’t turn us against each other, I don’t think some silly Netflix show will manage it.”

His expression lightens, and she thinks, not for the first time, that it would be nice if he smiled more. He’s got a rather nice smile.

“Now move,” she says. “You’re in front of my squash blossoms.”

He grins and goes back to filling his basket, and she glances over at him in confusion a time or two. Loki is different now than he used to be—not loads, but enough that someone who’s paying attention would see it. He’s just a little softer, more vulnerable than he was when they finished high school. Maybe a decade away from his family and his hometown has started dismantling the wall he always kept around himself. Or maybe it’s just that he’s growing up; it’s been Sif’s experience that some people naturally get more agreeable and level-headed as they age (while some people get less so).

Either way, she has to admit that she’s enjoyed spending time with him these last few weeks, and she’s going to miss him when this silly show is done filming.

Especially when he finds another brief moment of privacy, just as she’s about to leave the pantry, to lean in (close enough that her breath catches a little) and murmur, “You’ve got this. You’re better than these two clowns.”

And she smiles.

. . . . . .

_Sif Tyrsdottir_ _  
__Asgard, USA_ _  
__Head chef at Glaive_

_“I think what gives me an advantage in this competition is that I bring such a different perspective,” Sif tells the camera. “I think of myself as an athlete as much as a chef.”_

_The video cuts to Sif in joggers and a tank top, teaching a kickboxing class._

_“I played sports all through school, and my dream was always to be a personal trainer. But I also grew up cooking.” A hesitation. “We had nothing, when I was a kid. It was just me and my dad, and he worked two jobs to keep us afloat, so I had to learn to cook—and how to make something out of nothing.”_

_(An understatement, if ever there was one, but she doesn't elaborate; the audience loves a good sob story, but Sif isn't interested in manipulating people to like her. She prefers to let her work speak for itself.)_

_Now a photo of a younger Sif, wearing an apron and grinning next to an older woman with gray hair in a bun._

_“I worked my way through college cooking at a vegan cafe. The owner, Ginger, was such a mentor to me. She saw my potential and made me believe I could really cook.”_

_“After college, she went to work at a gym owned by a few of her high school friends,” says the host with the too-white teeth in voiceover, and the picture changes to Sif, Volstagg, Fandral and Hogun at the official opening of The Training Yard. “The gym took off, and soon they had the idea to open a snack bar at the gym—run, of course, by the only member of their team with any cooking experience.”_

_“It started simple—smoothies and acai bowls, that sort of thing—but we branched out pretty quickly,” Sif says. “I had taken nutrition classes as part of my exercise science degree, plus I knew what foods worked for me when I was trying to build muscle, lose weight, put on weight, whatever. And I’d learned about healthy ingredients and all these vegan and vegetarian food alternatives at my job in college, plus I knew how to cook on a budget, from my childhood. And I was able to combine all these influences into something . . . really good.”_

_(An understatement again, but Sif is not Loki; she’s not the sort to brag about herself.)_

_“The snack bar became wildly popular,” says the host with the too-white teeth, “and soon the gym's owners purchased the space next door to open a cafe. And Glaive was born. Within six months, it was one of the highest-rated restaurants in Asgard—popular with gym-goers and athletes, but also anyone who’s trying to eat healthy or just wants to enjoy fresh, hearty meals they can feel good about eating._ Food for Thought _magazine put Glaive on their 2016 list of ‘Top 25 New Casual Dining Restaurants.’ Several food trucks followed.”_

_“I now work mostly at the cafe, but I still go next door to teach classes a couple times a week,” says Sif. “My cooking career kind of snuck up on me, but I’ve loved every minute of it. I’m in this competition because if Loki and I win, I’m going to use my share of the prize money to open my own restaurant. This could really help me achieve my dreams.”_

_(Of course there’s no chance of that now; she’s good, but she’s not better than the Whittington siblings. And even if she were, there’s no chance she’ll beat Loki. Well, it was fun while it lasted.)_

. . . . . .

“So, Sif,” says the host with the too-white teeth, “you’re kind of the dark horse in this competition.”

“I guess,” she says with a polite smile, when what she really wants is to tell him to either make himself useful or make himself scarce. That’s part of being on a cooking competition show, though: hosts and judges wandering around, interrupting you while you’re trying to finish your dish. And you just have to smile and play along.

“I mean, four wins under your belt! And you not having the education or the experience that the other three chefs have, _plus_ you’re the last remaining female chef in the competition.”

“I’m used to it,” Sif shrugs. “In school, I was the only kid on the tennis team without a private coach, the kid wearing hand-me-down running shoes. And I was the only girl on our high school wrestling team. I’m used to being the only woman, and I’m used to having to fight twice as hard for everything I get.”

On the next station over, she thinks she sees Loki smile, but surely he’s not listening to her interview, is he?

“So who do you think your biggest competition here is?”

“Loki, for sure,” she says without hesitation. “He’s an extraordinary chef.”

“You know,” says the host with the too-white teeth, “he said that exact same thing about you.”

“That’s nice of him to say,” she says, but surely that’s all it is: Loki being nice. Which is not to say that this isn’t an extraordinary occurrence—Loki being nice—but it does mean that she’s not going to read too much into it.

Really, come to think of it, he’s been awfully kind to her this whole time.

She worried, when Jane first talked her into doing this competition, that it would be a little tense to partner with Loki Odinson, of all people. And not only because Loki’s an internationally renowned chef and she just runs a cafe, but because when they were young, Loki was not the friendliest person in the world. He was always kind to her—at least, up until the second half of their senior year, when he turned his back on everyone—but she knows that she was an exception. She’s never personally been at the receiving end of his disdain, but she saw it often enough, and she knows that when he wants to, he can be absolutely withering.

Of course she doesn’t blame him for the way he is—was? Even without the fallout of Loki discovering he was adopted senior year, Odin would have been a hard man to grow up with. Sif might have envied Thor and Loki their beautiful house and their phones and their cars, but she had one thing they didn’t: she went home to a house where she knew she was unconditionally loved. Loki had even said as much to her once, when he came over to her dingy little house to return a textbook and ended up staying for dinner: “I just hope someday my home is as happy as yours.”

She wonders if he ever achieved that goal, or if he’s even home enough to care; she wonders if he, like many chefs, eats, drinks and breathes the job. As far she's aware, he’s single, like her; he's never mentioned a girlfriend to Jane and Thor, and he hasn't said anything on the subject to her during filming either. It makes her sad to think of him going home to an empty apartment, to imagine him throwing himself into his work because the people he once loved are a thousand miles away.

She’s being silly, of course; he’s probably got loads of friends in Vanaheim. (Okay, it’s Loki, so he’s probably got a few friends in Vanaheim.)

Still, she knows it would never happen, but now that she’s spending so much time with Loki for this show, she’s been idly imagining him coming back to Asgard, mending bridges with his family, hanging out with the gang again . . .

“You seem happy,” says the host with the too-white teeth.

“Just really pleased with how this dish is coming,” she says calmly.

. . . . . .

_Loki Odinson and Sif Tyrsdottir_ _  
__USA_

_“It was my sister-in-law’s idea for us to apply as a team,” Loki says, glancing at Sif, who’s sitting by his side. “She thought we would complement each other.”_

_“We actually grew up together,” Sif smiles, and the video changes to a slightly overexposed photo of Loki, Sif and Thor in elementary school. “Along with Loki’s brother Thor. Our houses both backed onto a city park that we used to play in all the time. Eventually we started playing together, and we were inseparable after that.”_

_(Tyr will be watching, so Sif doesn’t go into detail: that little six-year-old Sif would go by herself to the park when her father was working twelve-hour days; that Frigga, accompanying her boys to the park, grew worried about the little dark-haired girl always playing alone, and took it upon herself to look after her; that once Frigga had figured out where Sif lived and introduced herself to Tyr, she started bringing Sif to the Odinson home for play dates. It still saddens Tyr to think of how he was seldom there for his daughter, too busy trying to put food on the table to do things like take her to the park. So she tries not to remind him of it too much.)_

_“Loki was always so much fun to hang out with. He'd come up with the most insane pranks and practical jokes.”_

_“While Sif was the one to keep me in line if I tried to go too far.”_

_“Not that I was very successful at that,” Sif laughs._

_“We were friends all through high school,” Loki goes on. “Movie nights, study groups, being in the same school dance groups . . .”_

_(But never each other’s dates. Every single one of her male friends asked her to a school dance at one time or another—as friends, because it was easy and stress-free—except Loki. He never once asked her, and there had been a period starting at the end of her junior year where that really bothered her, though she never quite had the courage to look in her heart and ask herself why. She responded by never asking him to a girls’ choice dance, something she regrets, when she thinks of it.)_

_“This guy is the only reason I passed my math classes,” Sif laughs, then considers for a moment. “And my science classes. Probably English, too.”_

_“You were good in home ec,” Loki points out, glancing over at her with a smile. “I didn’t realize then that it was a sign that someday you’d be a chef.”_

_The picture changes to show Sif and Loki at their high school graduation, beaming from under their caps._

_(That’s a picture with a complicated history. Thanksgiving of their senior year, Loki discovered that he was adopted and that his parents had no intention of ever telling him, and that destroyed his already-fractious relationship with his adopted father. And he’d long felt a little distant from their social circle—the only orchestra kid in a group full of avid athletes—and that pushed him over the edge. He barely spoke to anyone—family, friends, teachers—for the next few months, instead spending his time plotting his escape to Paris and Le Cordon Bleu. But at graduation, Sif had caught his eye across the hallway, and for once he hadn’t looked away. So she’d forced him to get a picture with her, and he’d smiled at her, genuinely smiled, for the first time in months. And it had touched her heart to know that at least he didn't seem to include her in his list of people he was mad at.)_

_“But then Loki went off to culinary school and I went to college in Asgard, and we didn’t see each other for years, did we?” Sif recalls. “This show is the first time we’ve actually been in the same place since high school graduation.”_

_“First time we’ve ever cooked together,” Loki agrees._

_“But I think we make a pretty good team, don’t you?” Sif turns to Loki._

_He turns to look back at her, and there’s a warmth in his eyes and his smile that she doesn’t expect, and an answering warmth spreads through her chest. “We make a great team,” he says, then turns back to the camera. “I’ve got more classical training, but Sif has a knack for using ingredients in unexpected ways. That’s why we’re going to win.”_

_“That’s why we’re going to win,” Sif agrees, and reaches out to fistbump him; he high-fives her fist, the same stupid thing he always used to do when they were kids, and she cracks up. “Dork,” she says affectionately._

_(Months later, when this actually airs on Netflix, that moment—played as an introduction to Loki and Sif in the very first episode—will result in more than one viewer saying, either in a review or in a comment on a review or just to the person next to them, “Those two would kind of be cute together.” )_

_(They’re right. They would be kind of cute together.)_

. . . . . .

“Five minutes left!” calls the host with the too-white teeth. “We have five minutes left! Chefs, if you’re not already plating, you need to start!”

Sif _has_ started plating, and not for the first time, she is so thankful she had Loki’s help for the first ten episodes of this competition. She doesn’t bother a ton with plating at Glaive; there’s only so fancy you can get with the presentation of a quinoa bowl or a protein scramble. Loki had to guide her through plating each of their ten dishes, and she didn’t realize until now how much she’s learned from him.

The thought makes her look up at him, a warm smile on her face; to her surprise, he’s already watching her with a soft expression. When their eyes meet, he just looks at her a long moment, and then he gives her a quick, almost tight smile.

She’s not sure what that means, but it lingers uneasily at the back of her mind.

Well, her plate looks gorgeous, thanks to Loki; she’ll have to find a way to thank him when this is all over. He has not been at all stingy about sharing his knowledge with her these past two weeks, though that’s not all that surprising, given that they’ve been on the same team. What is surprising is that he’s been very open to her sharing her ideas and knowledge with him. In fact, two of their team wins were based on concepts that she had. He elevated her ideas to something even better than she could have imagined, but still, the fact is that he was willing to listen. Maybe this really is a kinder, gentler Loki.

And she has to admit, she likes this new version of Loki. Of course, she liked the old version of Loki too. But still, she has to admit . . .

There were five female chefs total in the competition, and two of them, before being eliminated, were not at all subtle about checking Loki out when the cameras weren’t rolling. And really, Sif gets it. The Loki she grew up with was clever and funny and fiercely protective if he decided that you deserved it, but he was also scrawny and irritable and quick to anger and ready to believe the worst of absolutely everyone. The Loki of today is still clever and funny, but he seems to have reached some sort of equilibrium where he’s not walking around with a chip on his shoulder. And he’s more kind and generous, and his snarkiness is less mean-spirited these days—often meant to amuse his listeners as much as to complain—and he’s talented and confident and a brilliant chef and he’s finally grown into his lankiness in a very attractive way and the man bun actually _really_ works on him.

The point is, Sif gets why those two other chefs were not subtle in their admiration. If Sif were meeting Loki for the first time today, she’d probably be a little taken with him too.

The thought makes her face grow warm.

But it doesn’t matter. He’s going back to Vanaheim. This ends after today.

“And five—four—three—two—one! Time’s up, chefs!”

. . . . . .

_“I’m very confident about what I’m presenting today,” Sif says, and is pleased to discover that she means it. If this show gives her nothing else, she can be pleased that it gave her this boost in confidence. She really thought she couldn’t do this without Loki, and while she did miss him rather desperately, she is greatly cheered by the fact that on her own, she came up with a dish that she’s quite proud of. “This is everything I am as a chef: it’s healthy, it’s economical, and it’s delicious. In fact, I might add this to the menu at Glaive.”_

. . . . . .

_“I’m very pleased with my final dish,” Loki says. “I don’t think the judges will ever have seen anything like it, and I think they’ll be very impressed.”_

_“And how was it, working alone?” asks one of the producers off-camera._

_Only those who know him very well will see the slight hesitation, the slight hitch in his voice; most of the world will just see the confidence with which he says “Of course I’m accustomed to having a whole team around me at my restaurant, and I’ve grown used to having Sif on my team over the course of this competition. But I was fine.”_

_(Sif, watching the show when it finally airs on Netflix, will not be able to hide a smile as she hears the words he’s not saying: that he missed her during that final competition.)_

_. . . . . ._

One of the Whittington brothers is judged first, presenting octopus with Calabrian chili and browned butter; the judges like his presentation, but when they bite into the octopus, they grimace. “How long did you cook this?” one asks.

The chef’s expression falls.

“This is too chewy,” agrees the other judge. “I think you overcooked it.”

And Sif’s heart leaps in her chest. That’s one person she might have a leg up on.

Sif goes next, presenting the judges with stuffed cod. The judges rave about her presentation—“You’ve learned a lot from cooking with Loki since that first episode, I can tell”—and then comes the moment of truth. They take bites. They chew.

And Sif’s heart nearly leaps out of her chest when their eyes light up.

“I have to tell you,” says the one judge, “I did not have high hopes for this dish. When you said stuffed fish with barley—it sounded so, you know, rustic but not necessarily in a good way. Like it’s something my Norwegian peasant ancestors would have eaten. But this blew me away.”

“It does seem so simple, and like she said, rustic,” agrees the other. “But then it’s got this delicate complexity of flavors, and the textures are amazing. This fish is cooked to perfection. There are unexpected depths to this dish.”

“And I totally get _you_ in this dish. It’s healthy, it’s fresh, if I ate the whole thing I’d be full but I wouldn’t get that heavy, weighed-down feeling. If I wanted something good for me, for before a workout—after a workout? I don’t know, I don’t really work out.”

The audience laughs.

“But really, this was incredibly well done.”

Sif’s legs nearly give out with relief. Some instinct prompts her to look at Loki, who’s sending her the happiest, proudest smile, like he’s a dad whose daughter has just hit a home run. She grins back, shaky and pleased and grateful.

(This moment will only fuel those people who still insist that they would be _so cute_ together.)

Then it’s the other Whittington brother: he’s got a sweetened summer pea puree with a mirin reduction and geoduck. The judges praise the taste, but are underwhelmed by the presentation. “Besides, isn’t this something you already serve in your restaurant? I think we have to reward creativity and experimentation, not just following a recipe you’ve already developed.”

And now Sif’s heart is in her throat. Neither of the brothers did well; it’s just down to her and Loki. She can’t imagine a world where Loki’s dish doesn’t astound the judges, but the fact remains, at this moment she’s probably in first place.

Loki’s dish is an insanely elaborate one: scallops in sauce are the base, but the bowl is near to overflowing with a variety of other ingredients and garnishes, all so artistically arranged that Sif almost wants to demand that the judges not eat it, so as not to ruin to the stunning beauty of the dish.

If it tastes half as good as it looks, Sif has just lost.

The judges agree with her, based on the looks of eager anticipation on their faces. They dig in—and then their faces go blank with surprise.

“It’s too salty.”

Loki blinks, then leans forward. “Is it?”

Sif’s heart starts to pound.

The other judge agrees. “Absolutely stunning presentation, the best we’ve had tonight, but the salt level . . . did you taste this?”

“Not like I should have, there at the end. Perhaps I got too ambitious with the plating there at the end; I should have focused more on the taste.” He grimaces apologetically.

"It's a real letdown," says the one. "Especially after seeing this gorgeous presentation."

“So, judges!” says the host with the too-white teeth, “are you ready to make a decision, or do you need more time?”

The judges murmur to each other for a moment, then nod. “We’re ready.”

In a few moments, they’re all back on the dais they always use for these eliminations. Spotlights focus on the contestants and the judges.

“After ten episodes, you have outlasted twenty competitors to make it to this moment. But who will win the _Cream of the Crop_ competition, and $75,000?”

The judges step forward. “And the winner is . . .”

The inevitable pause for drama.

“Sif Tyrsdottir.”

The music swells, the lights shift, but Sif can’t even process it at first. It’s Loki beaming at her, and the Whittington brothers smiling (partly sincere, partly dutiful), that makes her realize what’s happening. And then the shock and the enormity of it is rolling over her, and she covers her mouth with her hands, trying not to freak out and embarrass herself on television. (Well, on streaming.)

Loki steps over to throw his arms around her, and for a moment even $75,000 is driven from her mind, because it feels so comfortable, so comforting, so . . . _right._

But then his arms are gone and people are shaking her hand and the host with the too-white teeth is congratulating her loudly. When they edit this episode, they’ll cut in an interview segment at this point, with Sif talking about her win and what she’ll do with the prize money, but for now in the real world, the host with the too-white teeth just looks at the camera and says “Thank you for watching _Cream of the Crop!_ We’ll see you next season.”

. . . . . .

_(Credits roll.)_

. . . . . .

The cameras stop rolling. The judges come over to chat a little more, shake her hand, and promise they’ll hit up Glaive the next time they’re in Asgard. The Whittington brothers congratulate her again.

And Loki gives her a half-smile that just makes him look absurdly handsome. “Congratulations, Sif. You earned it.”

“I can’t believe it,” Sif confesses. “I think it’s going to take a while to sink in.”

“So, you should now have enough to get started on your restaurant, right?”

She’s told him about her dreams of a proper restaurant before, one with waiters and hosts, one that people will take more seriously than a cafe. She might not have set out to be a chef, but now that she is one, her competitive nature won’t let her rest until she is the sort of widely regarded chef who earns Michelin stars and reviews from the very best of critics.

“I do,” she grins, and happily throws her arms around him again. “But Loki!” she remembers, leaning back. “I’m so sorry—with your dish—Jane drags you on here for my sake and you don’t even end up with half the prize money—”

“It’s fine,” he says, one hand reaching up as though to touch her face, but instead settling comfortingly on her shoulder. “And don’t you dare suggest we split the prize money anyway.”

“You think I’m that nice?” teases Sif, who had indeed been thinking about doing exactly that.

“I think you’re that honorable,” says Loki. “I know you’d think you owe it to me. You don’t. It’s all for you.”

“But still, Loki, I’m sorry about your scallops.”

“Things happen,” he shrugs. “I made a mistake.”

Huh. That’s very Zen of Loki, really, which is a little weird because “Zen” doesn’t usually describe him. She peers a little closer at his face. He looks entirely innocent, which makes her brow furrow, because Loki’s never entirely innocent; back in high school, at least, at any given time he was usually plotting at least three things in his head, at least one of which would get him suspended.

A whisper of suspicion coils her stomach.

But before she can say anything, a producer comes to grab her to take her off for her final interview, the one where she explains what was going through her head all through the episode, and closes with her feelings on her win.

Beth, the cosmetics artist who’s been helping Sif all this time, bustles over to her with a makeup kit and a smile. “Congratulations!” she beams, because she’s very kind-hearted like that. And then she says “Seriously, you got so lucky,” because she’s a little thoughtless like that.

Sif knows what she means, though. Her dish was good, but it definitely helped that her three competitors all made some mistake or error in judgment. It helped that Loki Odinson, of all people, oversalted his dish.

Loki oversalted his dish.

The producer comes over to start the interview, so Sif forces a smile on her face and turns her attention to the cameras. But the thought marinates in the back of her mind all the time. Loki oversalted his dish. Loki Odinson, a “once-in-a-generation talent,” oversalted his dish.

By the time the interview is over, the whisper of suspicion has grown to a full-blown roar, and she rushes out of the room. “Have you seen Loki?” she asks a helpful production assistant.

She learns that he’s just finished his interview and started the walk back to the hotel, which is only a block and a half away, and Sif’s glad of it: she doesn’t want there to be any chance of the conversation they need to have being overheard by the production crew. So, after getting confirmation that she’s done for the day, she jogs out of the studio.

She catches up with Loki just half a block from the hotel. His expression lightens when he sees her—for Loki, it’s the equivalent of a full-blown grin—but falls again when he sees her frowning.

“What’s wrong?”

“Loki,” she hisses, grabbing his arm and pulling him to a stop, “did you throw the competition?”

He blinks, then smiles and says smoothly, “Why would you think that?”

She knows him too well—she _knew_ him too well, anyway—to be fooled that easily. “You got so busy plating that you forgot to taste your dish? Seriously? For an hour and a half? Loki, I just spent two weeks cooking with you. You taste your dishes _obsessively._ There’s no way you didn’t taste your final dish.”

He hesitates, and then he seems to give in and just shrugs. “So what’s your point?”

_“Loki,”_ she hisses again, looking around to make sure no one will overhear them. There’s almost no one on the street, but there’s a guy stepping out of a shop, just two doors down, so Sif grabs Loki’s arm and starts walking again. “I mean, for one, it’s kind of cheating.”

“I don’t think it counts as cheating if it’s done with the intention of losing,” he points out philosophically.

“And two, I don’t want to know that I only won because the better chef threw the competition! I can’t feel good about that! I can’t be proud of that!”

“You don’t know that I would have won,” Loki says reasonably. “They loved your dish.”

“Yeah, but they almost fell out of their chairs when you presented yours. If it had tasted right . . . I swear, Odinson, I have half a mind to march back to the studio and refuse to accept the reward money.”

This time it’s him that pulls her to a stop, just outside the hotel doors. “And I have half a mind to sue the production company! Everything in the call for applications and in the prep meetings said that this was a team competition, and that a pair of chefs would win the grand prize. And then they pull this crap on us, switching things around so only one person can win! You know they did it for the drama, hoping that the teams would turn on each other—like the Whittingtons did, fighting the whole time. I feel no need to deal honestly with a company who won’t deal honestly with me.”

He pauses while she considers this new perspective, and then he speaks quietly. (A Loki who has learned to modulate his tone even when he’s worked up: he really has grown up.) “Look, I was always going to give you my half of the prize money,” he says, and her eyes widen. “They threw a wrench in my plans with this stupid twist. I had to improvise.”

But if he thinks that's going to end the argument, he grossly miscalculated. “I don’t need charity or handouts, Loki,” Sif says tightly, feeling like she’s fifteen years old again, showing up to tennis team tryouts in Frigga’s cast-off sneakers, holding Thor’s cast-off tennis racket, determinedly ignoring the snickers of the girls with the shiny new gear. “I don’t want to be an object of pity.”

“Good! Because you’re not one!” Loki is starting to sound exasperated. “I don’t need the money, and that’s not entirely my doing. My dad paid for culinary school. My dad sent me a monthly stipend the first year I was working in Paris, when what I made as a commis wasn’t enough to cover rent in a decent neighborhood. My dad put up most of the initial investment for Mojo. I’ve paid him back since then, but the fact remains, I never would have gotten that start if not for the fact that I happened to have been adopted into a wealthy family. But you—like you said, you’ve had to work twice as hard for everything you’ve ever gotten, because you weren’t born with a silver spoon in your mouth, and because you’re a woman in a male-dominated industry. And I knew you would do great things with the money: open a restaurant, create new jobs in our hometown, feed people good, healthy food. So forgive me if I thought that for once, you deserved a fraction of the help and support I’ve gotten my whole life. I see I miscalculated when I thought it would be a nice gesture.”

And he storms into the hotel.

Sif stands on the sidewalk, stunned and silent, for a few moments. By the time she enters the lobby, Loki’s already gone.

. . . . . .

When Sif has showered and gotten dressed in comfy clothes and is just finishing drying her hair, Jane Facetimes her.

“I know you’re not supposed to say anything until June 1 or whatever,” she squeals. “But I just had to know what happened.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t call Loki first,” Sif observes.

“I tried,” she admits. “He didn’t answer.”

Maybe he’s still mad, Sif thinks with an uneasy feeling in her stomach.

“So?” Jane prompts. “What happened?”

“I won,” Sif says, almost absent-mindedly.

There’s a long silence. “Wait, what? Because it sounded like you said you won, but it also sounds like you’re not all that excited about that. And what do you mean ‘I won’? Shouldn’t it be ‘we won’?”

So Sif sits on the hotel bed and tells Jane everything, her friend’s expression growing somber and thoughtful as she listens. The two of them are a bit of an odd couple—they really have nothing in common—but, thrown together by Jane’s marriage to Thor, they’ve become surprisingly close friends. Which is nice, because Sif works mostly with men; it’s good to have a female friend.

“And now I have no idea how to respond,” she concludes. “I still don’t like the idea that I only won because Loki threw the competition. But what am I going to do, report him? Demand a rematch? Anyway, as much as I hate it, I do understand his reasoning, at least.”

“Just don’t be too mad at Loki about this,” Jane pleads. “Please?

Sif grins wryly. “Are you trying to protect your brother-in-law or yourself? Since it was your idea that we apply together?”

Jane does not smile. “Look,” she says, her brows furrowed, “I’m going to tell you something, but I’m trusting you to be . . . careful and discreet with this information.”

Sif feels her eyebrows lift. “Okay.”

There’s a long hesitation. Then Jane asks, “Do you know why I suggested you apply with Loki?”

“We’re the only two professional chefs you know?”

Jane pauses. “That too,” she admits. “What I was thinking, though, was . . . Thor worries so much about Loki, you know. Those years he was in Paris were so hard on him. So hard on the whole family—just having to give him space and trust that in time, he’d come back to them. Thor cried the first time Loki willingly Skyped with him.”

Sif smiles at the thought.

“You know our wedding?”

Sif’s seen pictures, but she wasn’t there; they married in Hawaii, with only their families present.

“We’d planned on eloping; that's what Thor wanted all along, and I don’t like a big fuss, so I was fine with it. But when Loki said he was looking forward to being there—we hadn’t told him yet about the eloping thing—Thor changed the wedding plans entirely.”

“Sounds like Thor,” Sif smiles.

“My point is that Loki’s happiness has become very important to me, because it’s very important to Thor.” She hesitates. “And because I’ve come to really like Loki, for his own sake. Anyway, anything I can do to promote Loki’s happiness or well-being, I’ll do.”

Sif frowns, putting the pieces of this conversation together. “So you thought Loki being on this show would make him happy? Or, uh, ‘promote his well-being’?”

“I had a lot of reasons for suggesting it,” says Jane. “I thought it’d be good for you—even if you didn’t win, it’s great exposure for you and Glaive. And it’s good for Loki to loosen up and do something fun occasionally. But also . . .”

“But also?”

Jane takes a deep breath, as though making a decision. “Loki asks about you. A lot.”

Sif blinks. “About me?”

Jane nods. “We Facetime him about once a month, and every time, without fail, he finds a way to casually work you into the conversation. Never any of your other friends, though. And the night before the wedding, we’re at the hotel bar in Hawaii, and Thor and Loki get pretty drunk, and Loki says something along the lines of ‘It’s too bad you only invited family; I would’ve liked to see Sif.’ Again, no mention of any of your other friends.”

Sif feels her cheeks grow warm. “Really?”

“I’m not making any claims about what any of it means,” says Jane. “All I’m saying is . . . you matter to him. In some way. And he won’t admit it, but he’s lonely in Vanaheim. But he still balks every time we suggest he come back to Asgard, even for a visit. So I thought, if you guys did this show together, he’d have time with you: the one friend he really misses.” She shrugs. “I wouldn’t have pushed you into applying just for his sake. But when it seemed like it was something you could both benefit from . . .”

Sif’s mind is whirling. “Wow,” she says quietly. “I guess it makes more sense now, why he didn’t care about winning—it was never about winning, it was about seeing me.”

“I think so,” Jane says quietly. “Mind you, I’ve never talked about any of this with him. But I will say: when I suggested you two apply together, he agreed almost immediately.”

“Huh,” Sif murmurs.

“So don’t be mad at him, okay? I think he just genuinely wanted to do something nice for you; it wasn’t pity or charity or anything. It was a gift for a friend.”

Sif agrees and they end the call. Then she sits on her bed for a few minutes, her mind whirring, her heart racing.

And then she texts Loki. _Meet me at the rooftop garden?_

. . . . . .

It's like they’ve gone back in time: when Loki arrives at the rooftop garden, he’s doing a stunning impression of his eighteen-year-old self—like he’s a house with the shutters closed. He’s withdrawing behind a defensive wall, she realizes; over the last two weeks, he allowed her to see the real him in a way he rarely did after the age of about fifteen, but now he thinks she’s mad at him and he's hiding again.

“Come sit down,” she says softly, and he walks over and sits stiffly on the far end of her bench. He’s in lounge pants and a t-shirt, the first time she’s seen him in anything but his chef’s whites or a shirt and tie since this show started, and it softens his sharp edges a little. “I’ve been thinking about what you said,” she begins. “What you did. Why you did it. And I’m sorry for the way I reacted: you were trying to give me this incredible gift, and I was worried about my pride.” She pauses. “Though I hope you can understand why I was angry too.”

His expression has been softening all the while. “I do,” he says quietly. “I can see that what I did would look like pity, and that you would hate that. Which I should have realized, since I also hate being pitied.”

“I know you meant it as a kindness,” she says. “And honestly, it’s by far the kindest, most generous thing anyone has ever done for me.”

His eyes light up a little. “So you’re going to accept it?”

She laughs and sighs at the same time. “I really wish I could convince you to take half,” she says, but he shakes his head.

“Promise me a free meal any time I’m at one of your restaurants, and we’ll call it square. I want to try that stuffed cod of yours.”

“Deal,” she smiles. “And Loki, thank you. Seriously.” She hesitates, then smiles again. “That was a risky move, though. What if you threw the competition, just to have one of the Whittingtons win?”

“Those two?” Loki scoffs. “I’ve known them both for a few years, and I knew they’d be useless cooking separately. The one has all the creativity and none of the technical skills, while the other’s really technical but has never had an original idea in his life. They make a good team, but split them up and they both fall apart.”

“Still, you got lucky.”

He gives her a tiny smile. “I knew you were good enough to beat them.”

This could be the end of the conversation, if she wants it to be. They made up; they’re friends again, if you count sending each other polite congratulatory notes once a decade as friendship.

But Sif finds that she does not want that. What Jane said has been racing through her head and her heart since she hung up the phone. And maybe it only means that he considered her a particularly close friend when they were younger, so he still has that lingering affection for her. But maybe it means what Jane was not quite willing to come out and say: maybe he’s interested in her. Maybe he has feelings for her. And that's an idea that Sif likes. A lot.

It would actually explain a lot, if he has or used to have feelings for her: that he was always kinder and more patient with her than anyone else when they were young. That she was the only person he willingly got a picture with at graduation. That he asks about her constantly, that he agreed so quickly to being her partner for this show, that he threw the competition for her even though he’s got a reputation to uphold. Even the fact that he never asked her to a dance takes on a new meaning, when seen in this light. She’d always supposed he just didn’t like her enough, but that makes no sense in retrospect, as it often seemed like she was the only person he liked; so maybe it was he _liked_ her, and asking her to a dance would be meaningful for him, and he couldn’t work up the courage to do it.

And there’s one thing she’s certain of: if they hop on their planes tomorrow without talking about it, and she goes back to Asgard and he goes back to Vanaheim and they just go back to their lives, she’s going to regret it. And Sif does not believe in living with regret.

Besides, if this goes badly, he lives a thousand miles away. They never have to see each other again, if they don’t want to.

“I do have a question, though,” she says, and Loki looks over at her, his eyebrows raised. Now that he’s not withdrawing into a defensive shell, he looks so relaxed and so—well, he doesn’t really show a lot of happiness, even when he’s feeling it, so let’s just say he looks pleasant, and it’s really a very handsome look on him. She smiles.

Loki clearly sees the smile. “Is it an amusing question?”

“No,” she admits. “But it’s . . . it could be a question with an answer that makes me happy.”

He quirks an eyebrow.

Sif takes a deep breath. “Why did you do it?”

Loki blinks a few times. “I told you,” he said, “I thought you could use the money for your restaurant—”

“No, I mean, if you wanted to do this competition, you’ve probably got other chef friends you could have signed up with. And I know Jane called you about being my partner, I’m just—” She’s rambling a little; it’s Loki who’s good with words. Her only talent, verbally, is cutting through the bull and getting to the heart of things. As she does now.

She takes a deep breath. “I’m asking you why because I’m hoping the answer is ‘because I’m into you.’”

Her declaration is met with a long, surprised silence during which Sif can read absolutely nothing on Loki’s expressionless face. “You’re hoping that’s the answer?” he repeats steadily.

She nods and, suddenly a little embarrassed by her boldness, stands from the bench and paces to the railing. “I’ve had so much fun with you on this show, and by that I mean it was amazing cooking with you, but I also have just loved spending time with you. Talking on set and hanging out in the evenings.”

Loki stands as well and takes a hesitant step toward her, his expression still unreadable.

“And you’ve always been a good friend, but these last couple weeks I’ve been seeing you differently. You’re funny and talented and, I mean, you’re not nice to everyone, but you’re really nice to me, and obviously you’re good-looking—I don’t know why saying that is making me blush, you’ve got a mirror, you know you’re good-looking—” Oh dear, she’s rambling. She’s never done anything quite like this before; not to brag, but she’s usually had guys being the ones doing the pursuing, while she just accepts the ones she wants and rejects the rest, and now words are just pouring out of her because she’s so uncomfortable and why won’t Loki react— “And I know that we don’t live anywhere near each other, but I also know that if you left without me saying something, I’d regret it, and I really really wish you’d say something because I am rambling like a runaway train and I honestly don’t know how to stop talking so much—”

Loki knows how to stop her. Loki takes three long strides and catches her face in his hands and kisses her—gently at first, until her scrambled wits catch on to what’s happening and she has enough presence of mind to grab his t-shirt and yank him closer.

“So this is why you oversalted your scallops?” she says breathlessly when finally they’ve broken apart.

He nods, his gaze roving over her face, his hands still on her waist. “I couldn’t beat you,” he says. “I didn’t want you to always think of that when you thought of me. I didn’t want you to resent me.”

“I can be a good sport about losing,” she grins.

“I know,” he says. “But maybe, even subconsciously, you’d . . . And anyway, like I said, I’d never planned on taking home any of the money, so it’s not like I felt like I was losing much.”

“Except your dignity. On TV.”

“Worth it,” he says, and presses a lingering kiss to her mouth, and she shivers delightfully.

“I still don’t like that I only won because you threw the competition. But it was very sweet of you. And sweet that you intended to give me the money in the first place.”

“Or very self-serving,” he points out. “I didn’t think I’d ever have the guts to tell you how I felt. But still, if I did this, you’d think well of me. And you’d think about me; you'd _have_ to think about me, every time you walked into your restaurant. I’d always be on your mind . . . the way you’ve been on my mind since the day I left for Paris. Really, it was pretty selfish of me.”

She tilts her head to one side. “How long have you felt this way?”

He leans back just a little (keeping his hands on her waist), and she can see the sheepish expression he’s trying very hard to stuff behind his usual confident mask.

“A long time?” she guesses.

He won’t meet her eyes.

“Since high school?” she guesses.

His gaze shifts guiltily to one side.

“Since junior high?”

To the other side.

“Since elementary school?” She laughs. “You have a very good poker face, Odinson. I had no idea.”

“I didn’t want you to know,” he shrugs, finally looking up at her. “I . . . always thought you liked Thor.”

“I did,” she admits. “But only in the eighth grade.”

“Seriously?” he demands.

“Seriously,” she says. “And . . . I was never quite willing to admit it to myself, but I think I kind of had a thing for you junior year.”

He stares at her a long time, his expression suddenly tinged with a sort of longing sadness. And it occurs to her: he was feeling so isolated from their friend group—from everyone—then. If he had known that the girl he’d loved hopelessly for years had been in love with him . . . How differently things could have gone for him! Months and years of loneliness could have been avoided.

Well, he’s not alone now, and to prove it, she steps forward, sliding her arms around his waist in a hug and resting her head against his shoulder. His arms come up immediately, closing carefully around her to draw her near.

They stand there like that for a few minutes, and it is utter perfection: his lips against her hair, his thumbs gently rubbing her shoulder blades, her senses filled with his scent and his warmth. But nothing can last forever; finally, reluctantly, she asks, “What now?”

“I can move to Asgard,” he blurts immediately, and she laughs, even as it warms her heart that he’d suggest it.

“You can’t do that,” she says, pulling back to look up at him. “What about your restaurant?”

“I’ve got a brilliant sous chef,” he says. “I could promote her to chef de cuisine. You know, stay on as executive chef, do the menus, develop the dishes, but let her manage the day-to-day.”

She wants to stay in his arms forever, but she’s getting tired—it’s been a draining day—so she takes his hand and leads him back to the bench, thinking how lucky it is that they’ve been uninterrupted up here in the garden. “And what would you do?”

“Start a new restaurant in Asgard,” he says. “This isn’t as crazy as it sounds; I’ve been thinking about it for a few months. I’ve been getting bored. I need a new challenge. And—” he looks down at their joined hands, resting in the dip where their legs are pressed against each other, for a moment. “I’ve . . . been thinking it could be good to be near my family again.”

She squeezes his hand. “Really?”

“I miss my mother. I . . . miss Thor. I’d like to get to know Jane more. And I’d like to be nearby when they start having children.”

“Are those the only family members you miss?”

He smiles, a little rueful. “Okay, yes, I’ve been thinking I need to spend more time with my dad,” he admits. “He always supported me financially, even when I was telling him that I wanted nothing to do with him, that I was never going to come home. I think . . . he deserves a second chance. If he’s willing to give me one.”

She grins brighter than sunlight. “Well, personally, I would welcome a little competition. Two amazing new restaurants in Asgard: we’ll single-handedly revolutionize the culinary scene.” And then she teases, “Just don’t feel bad if mine is more popular.”

“Feeling cocky?” he grins.

“I did just beat you in a cooking competition,” she says, mock seriously.

“You sure I lost?” he murmurs, leaning close to kiss her again. “Sure doesn’t feel like it.”

. . . . . .

fin


End file.
